Light and Darkness
by A.Pseudonym
Summary: No matter your intentions, there will come a time to face the consequences. Pay up. Or get repossessed. Mello x Light... sort of. You'll see what I mean. Rated for lots of violence, some sexual themes, and the foulest language available to humanity.
1. Prologue

Prologue

26th January 2010

Flames licked the ancient stone of the church ruin. The heat of the blazing inferno was scorching the surrounding area, but at this distance, it was no more than a cosy fire to Light Yagami. It was really quite beautiful, tongues of orange and yellow, dancing, reaching for the sky in exhilaration; a perfect reflection of his inner mood.

It was a shame to lose Takada. She had been very useful to him, as well as possessed a poise and grace that Misa so sorely lacked. Pretending to love her had been a whole lot easier, as she didn't grate on his patience with every word she spoke. Regardless, he simply could not risk that she fall into Near's hands. Not after today. Not with Mello's real name on her piece of the notebook.

He could hardly believe how smoothly things had gone. Mello had given him more trouble than any of his previous enemies—bar of course L. Not only had he embarrassed Light by playing the death note right out of his hands, using Light's own sister as a bargaining tool, he had also foiled its recapture once, and his own neutralisation twice. The second time the attempt had even cost Light his father's life. Taking out Mello was a purely tactical manoeuvre, but Light had to admit that it felt good to get revenge, both for his father's death, and Sayu's kidnapping. Or rather, the awkward position these events had landed Light in. Yes, Mello had been an inconvenience of the highest order, but now that troublesome backup to L had finally and truly gone in his predecessor's footsteps. There was only Near left. Not bad for a day's work.

In two days, Light would meet with Near, and if everything went according to plan, this whole business could be finished once and for all. He was on the home stretch, and the world was a little brighter for it. Or perhaps it was just the light of the dancing flames.


	2. One

One.

Light stepped into the hall and closed the front door, quietly. Despite the late hour, he expected Misa to come running to throw her arms around her, dressed up as the stage-act from some low-budget strip club, and every second he could put this off for was precious. But the house was silent. The lights in the living room were all off. Perhaps she had gone to bed. A pleasant surprise.

Light stretched, feeling his spine creak. All this sitting in front of a computer all day was starting to take it's toll. If he was not careful, he would end up with the same posture as the former L. He smirked to himself. L—Ruyzaki, even though he knew that had not been his real name—had been something else. Killing him had been bittersweet and left a strange void that Light could not, and didn't particularly want to, put a name on. Finding out the existence of Near and Mello had, oddly, filled that void to some degree. And now another one of them were gone. In a strange way, Light regretted never having had the chance to meet this Mello character face to face. To measure him against the standard of L. Apparently, he had his quirks too; for one, he consumed an inordinate amount of chocolate—that's how Near had been able to deduce his identity from speaking with Light's father. That orphanage they came from must have been spitting out their fair amount of sugar addicts and weirdoes.

He took off his jacket, noticing a faint smell of fire smoke off it, and hung it up. Anybody else might have wanted to air it out first thing, but Light would enjoy that subtle reminder of today's success. He'd try not to think of Takada while doing it. That would be inappropriate.

Kicking his shoes off, he padded into the darkened living room, careful not to make a sound that might wake Misa. The streetlights outside threw cold shadows across the carpet and the furniture. He reached the middle of the room, crossed into a patch of lamplight, and stopped. Something was wrong. He held his breath, mouth slightly open, straining to hear. Except for some faraway sounds of traffic, and the clock ticking in the kitchen, it was absolutely quiet. That wasn't it; it was not a sound that had raised the tiny hairs on his arms and sent a shiver up his spine. As he breathed again, cold dread froze his blood, because he knew now what it was. Not a sound—a scent.

He was just about to spin around when something large and soft pressed against his face. A strong grip around his chest held him in place and forced him to breathe in the overpowering smell of ether. He struggled to break free, but his arms flailed uselessly, as the noxious fumes made his head spin. He was rapidly going under. The dark room tilted, the pressure on his chest and face increased. And then he didn't struggle anymore as he lost consciousness.


	3. Two

Two.

Light did not scare easily. Since he had found the Death Note, he had not been truly, deep down afraid once. Not when he had first seen Ruyk. Not when L had almost caught him, or when his memories of the Death Note came flooding back after Higuchi was killed. Not even now, as the hood was ripped off his head and a backlit figure stood over him, watching him come to and realise that he was tied to a chair with his hands behind his back. The room was large and featureless with grey concrete walls receding into a brightness that was not natural light. Headlights, perhaps. It was cold.

The silhouetted figure took a step forward and leaned down, throwing shadow across Light's face and blocking the blinding glare. A pair of furious blue eyes came level with Light's, and he realised just who's mercy he was at. Helpless to move, he stared wordlessly into the scarred face of a man who was supposed to be dead.

There was never a second's doubt. The pencil drawing that they had obtained from Wammy's house was admirably accurate, but time had clearly passed. The fresh-faced young boy with perfectly bobbed hair was only a memory, but the eyes were the same. Ice cold, yet burning with intensity. Nearly half his face was covered with scar tissue, but he had been lucky, and his eyes, nose and lips had been left untouched by the fire, so the injury was not nearly as disfiguring as it could have been.

These thoughts raced through Light's analytical mind in a heart-beat, before he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a single word, Mello hit him across the face.

Light's vision was shot through with darkness. The blow shook his head and made him numb. His mouth filled up with a thick, metal-tasting liquid that threatened to gag him. He spat it out onto the concrete floor and, as his vision began to clear, he could see white bits in the blood. Teeth. His jaw felt loose.

He had never experienced pain like this. His life had been physically sheltered, the worst injuries he'd sustained tennis balls smacking his shins and leaving bruises. This was a whole new ballpark. Despite the fear—or maybe because of it—the pun threatened to make him giggle.

"That was for Matt," Mello said, speaking effortless Japanese, although he pronounced the name in English.

Light did not reply. He had no idea who Matt was, but knew that such an admission would certainly result in more violence. Instead he explored the insides of his mouth with his tongue. There were two gaps, and a sharp edge where a tooth had been broken clean off. Mello could not have hit so hard with his fist alone. Glancing up beneath his sweat-lanky fringe, Light saw that he was right. Mello was holding a gun.

A gloved had grabbed Light's chin and forced his head up to meet Mello's gaze. There was an electric aura around him, making the hair on Light's arms stand on end. He radiated hatred. Danger. And something else that Light had problem naming.

"You do know who I am, don't you Kira?"

Light made no move to either confirm or deny it, and Mello continued: "Yeah, of course you do. That woman knew who I was—even knew my name. She couldn't spell it though!"

Light cursed Takada inside his head. She had told him it had been done. Mello must have somehow realised what she was doing and faked a heart-attack. He would have heard her talk with Light on the phone. Had she mentioned Light's name? Did Mello know that Light had set a trap for him? And who was the second charred body in the truck that the police had found?

"And you were the one who told her, right?" Mello said.

Light just stared at him.

"Right?" Mello repeated, squeezing Light's aching jaw.

"You've already made up your mind!" Light spat, "it doesn't matter what I tell you. You believe that I am Kira and for that reason want you dead. Nothing I say will change your mind."

Mello sneered at him, but let go of his face.

"True," he said. "I already know. But I wonder, how come you didn't use the second notebook to kill me? Not the one the police have—mine, by the way!—but there is another one, isn't there? I'm sure you must have access to it, and if you know my face now, I presume you've seen the photo."

"What photo?" Light said, and this time he wasn't playing.

There had been a photo of Mello in circulation? That could have saved him so much trouble. He could only think of one person who had it, or had at one point had it. Near. The SPK leader was holding out on him, that was nothing new... but if he actually worked with Mello... that would be very bad.

"Not seen it, huh?" Mello said, "So, your father described me to you? _How_ do you know who I am?"

"I don't!" Light said, hoping that the stress in his voice would lend credibility to the lie.

"Yes you do. Or you wouldn't be so scared."  
"You've kidnapped me and hit me, who wouldn't be scared?"

Mello shook his head. He wasn't buying the show.

"Stop pretending, Kira. I want to hear you say it. Say my name."

Light swallowed. Mello had a very disturbing look in his eyes. A look that said he would stop at nothing. It scared Light, because he had seen that same look in the mirror, and knew the lengths _he_ was prepared to go to. The barrel of the gun came up, sliding along his abused jaw, almost like a caress. Light tried to control his breathing, suppress the fear. Mello wouldn't kill him without a confession. He just had to keep a cool head and think about what he was saying.

"Come on," Mello said, lightly, "Say my name."

"What are you going to do?" Light said, "Shoot me?"

The gun dropped from Light's face as Mello said: "Yes."

A deafening whip crack of sound, and fire shot up Light's right leg. His foot was a ball of solid pain, tendrils of it screaming through his whole body. He slumped forward and retched, then gasped to breathe instead of scream. There was a hole in the toe of his shoe, wisps of smoke still rising from it, blood pooling underneath. Mello pushed him back up with a hand on his chest and repeated; "Say my name."

The gun came to rest against Light's kneecap and the time for bravery was definitely over.

"Alright! Mello! You're Mello! Michael fucking Keehl!" Light screamed in English.

Mello grinned. "Mihael, actually. You do know why I'm telling you that, don't you? Because you're not going to be alive to use the information."

Light gritted his teeth. The toes or his right foot—or what was left of them—throbbed with every heartbeat, and his heart was beating fast.

"You're going to kill me? Like you killed my father?"

Mello shrugged his shoulders and stepped away a little, easing the pressure.

"I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. Not that it matters. I'm sure he knew what he was getting himself into. He seemed so chock-full of honour and integrity and all that old-fashioned, Japanese work ethic..." Mello took a bar of chocolate from his pocket and tore the wrapping with his teeth. "So, based on the little I knew your father, I would say that if he got the choice, he would rather die than live to find out that his son was Kira."

"Stop calling me Kira!"

"What am I to call you then? 'Raito'?" He said the name exaggeratedly with a deliberate English accent. "Sounds like a fucking yoghurt sauce."

"It's _Light_," Light growled, "or you can call me L."

Mello's grin widened and he waved his finger in front of Light's face, holding the bar of chocolate between his teeth. There was something not quite sane about him, and Light started to realise that whether he made it out of this alive or not could owe a lot more to luck than anything else.

"No, no, no!" Mello said, "I knew L. The real L. And you are nothing like him."

"No, well, I'm alive for one thing."

Light said it before he could stop himself. A second later, he was screaming up at the concrete ceiling, as Mello stomped down hard on his already broken toes.

"And that's for L!" He said, twisting his heel and making Light thrash against his restraints. The thought that something could hurt like this without making him lose consciousness was frightening. Because maybe this was nothing. Maybe he still had no concept of real pain. And Mello was clearly prepared to teach him.


	4. Three

Three.

"What do you want?" Light asked when he had control of his breathing again. He could feel his jaw and gums starting to swell, but he still managed to enunciate clearly.

Mello looked up at the ceiling. The bright light behind him gave him a glowing outline, but Light's eyes were adjusting and he had no problem making out his face now.

"What do I want? Look at me! I was fourteen years old when L died, and we were sent to war! I should have had a life! I should have had a future as a great detective, and instead I was forced to leave the only home I can remember! I had to kill, and I had to wake up every morning knowing that today was the day I could die! Like Matt did."

This self-pitying rant of someone who had wilfully chosen to go against justice and now blamed Light for his self-centred grief; it was too much for Light to take, and he spat, "Who the fuck is Matt?"

He should have known better. His skull rang and his head ached as Mello hit him repeatedly. Mello screamed, "You don't say his name! You don't ever get to say his name!" before he spun away, his fists still clenched and bloody, and roared up at the ceiling.

Light gasped for air. Blood was running from his nose, and his vision was blurred. If he didn't learn to control his tongue, he would die here.

Mello was visibly trying to control his rage. He was breathing heavily, but when he faced light again, his face was composed. He leaned in close, bringing that electric presence with him, and turned his head so Light could see the scar clearly.

"So, fucking look at me now! Look at my ruined face—my ruined life—and tell me; _What do you think I want from you_?"

Light's throat made a dry clicking sound as he swallowed. His skin was crawling. His instincts told him to run, but he was stuck. Where was Ryuuk? Why wasn't he here to help him? Light steeled himself. He was Kira. He was the god of the new world. Mello was just an angry kid, younger than him. He didn't deserve Light's fear.

"You left of your own accord," Light said. "You could have chosen any life you liked. What made you go after Kira, other than your own ego?"

Mello's eyes blazed. He jammed the barrel of his gun under Light's chin and cocked it.

"I'll give you _one_ guess and five seconds."

He meant it. This was one highly unstable individual. Perhaps the two fires that had failed to kill him had burnt away most of his sanity. Light knew he had to say something before his five seconds were up.

"Revenge," he said, proud to hear that his voice was steady.

The gun was removed. Mello stood and looked down at him like he was a dog turd he had nearly stepped on.

"That's right. Even if you start out working for justice, you can only take so much injustice before you realise that it's pointless trying to keep your motives pure."

If Light's jaw had not been so sore, it would have dropped. It was like hearing his inner voice speak. He had had this argument with himself many times, and he had an instant answer.

"I disagree. Without pure motives, you shouldn't do anything. If you've lost track of the goal, stop running. Reorient yourself..."

Mello's laugh was a hollow travesty of amusement.

"And your motives are pure, are they, Kira? Killing those who would be on your side? L wanted to rid the world of evil, so you rid the world of L, and that makes sense to you?"

_If he makes himself an obstruction to the justice he claims to be working for, yes._ Light didn't speak his thoughts out loud, of course.

"Please stop calling me Kira. I am not Kira. I am working just as hard as you are, or as L was, to catch Kira."

Mello sighed, dropping his head. Straggly blond hair fell down around his face so Light could not see his expression. There was a loud bang and fresh pain flooded from Light's other foot. He screamed, in rage as much as in pain, but Mello had already turned to walk away from him. The second shot had just barely clipped the big toe on his left foot. It was much less injured than his right, but it still _hurt._

"Keep lying to me!" Mello called back without turning. "And I'll pick you apart piece by piece until you're nothing but your most vital organs and a mind that's not allowed to die!"

Insane. Light shivered, because he knew how many organs were non-vital. Eyes, tongue, fingers and toes, teeth and nails, none of their removal would be directly life threatening. Suddenly, he couldn't keep his calm anymore.

"Mello! Mello, listen to me!" he called. "I know what you want! You're just like me, and I realise that sounds like an insult to you right now, but please hear me out!"

Mello stopped and looked back at him. Light went on, "You want to succeed. You want to show that brat Near how far you can get with hard work and dedication. That persistence is worth more than genetics, or whatever it is that gives some people unfair advantages. You want to show them that you can shape the world after your ideals, because you've worked for it, because you've earned it!"

Mello walked back to where Light was sitting. "What lies have Near been feeding you about me?"

Light closed his eyes, breathing rapidly, and tried to focus. _Think. _Near had said Mello saw the whole Kira case as playing a game against him, against Near. Based on that, Light was convinced his deductions were correct, but finding Mello's weak spot with knowledge coming from Near was like finding a crate of dynamite in a dark room with a match.

"Nothing. My officers spoke to someone at Wammy's."

Mello shook his head, a disgusted frown on his face.

"Fucking Roger, wasn't it? What did he tell you?"

"Only that you and Near were rivals to succeed L. He was only cooperating with the investigation! He was doing the right thing."

"And he said that my sole existence was only to beat Near?" Mello said, but before Light could answer, his voice hardened further and he snapped, "Did Roger have a picture of me?"

Light might as well tell him. It would be a sign of cooperation, and at the same time rock Mello's confidence that he was not as untouchable as he had thought.  
"We got two drawings," he said. "One of you, one of Near."

Mello nodded. "Linda. Well, I'll deal with her later. But, do go on! You were saying how well you understand me?"

The bitter sarcasm didn't dissuade Light, he needed to establish some kind of common ground if he was to have any chance of surviving this. He composed himself and spoke.

"So, you do want to catch Kira. Not just for revenge, but to win. But then what? Near will still have all that staff, all the resources that you left him. Trying to compete with him will be like showing up bare-handed to a gunfight, thinking that you can win. Besides, I hold the L title now, as you know. Beating Near would not get you there. Killing me would not get you there..."

Mello crossed his arms over his chest, gun dangling casually from his hand. His lips were curved in a slight smile, but it looked stiff and pasted on. "Please don't try to make some kind of deal with me in your capacity of L. Don't insult my intelligence."

"I wasn't going to. I know that the position of L as it is under me is of no value to you. This is not about that."

Of course not. In Mello's eyes, Light had irrevocably sullied that code with his mere presence. Becoming L was a lost race. One-upping Near, on the other hand, was still on the table. Mello was hard to read, but easy to understand.

"Go on," Mello said, and Light played his hand.

"Being L is no option. You said yourself you've given up on our brand of justice..."

"No!" Mello interrupted him with a slap to the face, jarring his sore jaw, but it was nothing compared to the earlier savage punches. Not the same passion at all. Much more dangerous. His gun swept up to rest between Light's eyes. "You're still lying! You're more subtle now, I'll give you that, but you're still trying to pretend you're on L's side, on the side of the law! But you are insulting me because _I know what you are!_ If you speak to me again, you will do it without hiding! You will do it as _yourself! _Or else I have no use for you."

Shit. Light felt hope drain from him. It was pointless to try to convince Mello he wasn't Kira. Not just pointless at this stage; suicidal. That maniacal stare, those pin-point pupils boring into Light's skull like surgical laser, he was not the kind of man you could manipulate easily. If at all.

Light nodded; a minute movement not upset his head further. He might very well be concussed. This was not about the game any more, not about his pride. He might be a god, but if so, Mello was the devil, and needed to be taken seriously. He would play a whole other game from now on; the game of survival.

"Okay", he said. "How about instead of taking Kira out of the equation, _you_ were the one to control Kira? Have him work for you, only killing those you saw fit? Or nobody at all; you could stop all the killing with just a word. The power would be in your hands... if you controlled Kira, the possibilities would be unlimited!"

Mello's smile took on a look of genuine amusement and he lowered the gun.

"And how do you propose I would do that?" he said.

Light thought frantically. He had to keep Mello calm like this, reasonable. Then he could start planning his escape. An escape that would involve trying to run on two feet with destroyed toes. And even that was provided he could get free. His hands were cuffed behind his back and there was a strap that held him to the back and the seat of the chair. That would have to be a later problem.

"Offer him your protection," Light said.

"Aha. And why would Kira need my protection?" Mello ran the gun down Light's face again, lightly. It was still slightly warm from shooting him in the foot. "Is it perhaps because he's a pencil-pushing mammy's boy who can't look after himself, and is liable to get kidnapped by nasty men with guns?"

Light said nothing. The room had got brighter, he realised. Above his head, he could see sky lights, admitting a grey, grimy illumination. Morning was coming. People would miss him when he didn't turn up at work. They would have no idea where to look for him though, and he had no idea where he was.

"So, you think I should own Kira, huh?" Mello said, stepping back. "Reach my goals by taking advantage of you instead of trying to defeat you. But you see, that is not what this is about! L could have done that, no doubt, but it was L's firm goal to bring you down _in accordance with the law_." Mello was pacing, like a Shakespearean actor on a stage, gesturing as he spoke. "I might not adhere to his methods, I might have my own brand of justice like I said, but the rules of the endgame are clear. To win, I don't need to become L or become the head of the SPK, but to get a conviction. Bring down Kira, not become Kira by proxy."

Light could see him better now it was brighter. There was a flamboyant, nearly feminine quality about him. Mello was not very short, but slight, reedy even, and his hair was long enough to brush his shoulders. His mannerisms too, while not exactly effeminate, were still overly dramatic. And his clothes alone made Light wonder about him. Those skin tight leather trousers, with rather evocative lacing at the front, and a sleeveless zip-up leather vest that left his midriff bare. It was certainly not the kind of clothes you would have expected from a high-ranking mafioso. More like a rent-boy. Still, he had to give it to Mello; he pulled it off. He pulled if off damn well...

Light's throat went suddenly dry as Mello stopped pacing, and Light realised he had been caught looking. A nasty smile curved Mello's lips and he took the chocolate out of his mouth and said: "Are you checking me out?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Light said, turning his face away.

"Ridiculous?"

Mello stalked towards him like a cat. Light could feel his heart hammer in his chest. This was not good, not good at all. Mello leaned forward, bringing his face down to Light's level. Light cringed away from him, involuntarily, and Mello chuckled darkly.

"Are you worried? I could have had your sister, you know. Oh, I could have had her 'till she screamed..."

"But you didn't!" Light interrupted, eager to steer this conversation as far away from the current territory as possibly, "Because I actually think you have more self-respect than to take sexual advantage of someone completely helpless!"

_And I'm not so sure you're interested in girls at all_, he didn't add. Mello just sneered and straightened his back.

"Well," he said. "you were the one who brought up me protecting and controlling you. Then I catch you looking at me like that..." he tutted and shook his head. "And you have such a pretty girlfriend... no wonder she's alone all the time..."

Light felt the heat rise from his neck over his face. This was intolerable! Mello could not be making him _blush_! It was absurd during any circumstances, but now—kidnapped, abused, tied up—it was simply unthinkable. In a desperate move, Light pressed his injured left big toe against the floor and the resulting pain washed away the redness from his cheeks, leaving only a pale clamminess and slight nausea. Much better.

_A/N Thank you very much for reading. And an extra big thank you to those who have reviewed! The Rite-0 bashing will continue soon... muahaha!_


	5. Four

Four.

Mello had gone off for a while, Light didn't know where to. The bright headlight that had shone on him during the night was switched off. The large concrete room looked like a parking garage and was now full of hopeless daylight. Light was tired and thirsty; the pain was sapping his energy. He had tested his bonds, and they were firm. Metal handcuffs and some strong nylon-type straps. Despair was starting to set in. No—that was another lie. Despair had set in hours ago.

Mello came back, strolling across the large open space, the overhead lights shining off his leathers. He walked up to Light and looked down on him. He seemed much calmer now; the insane glint in his eyes had gone. That was a relief at least.

"So, here's the deal. I know that you are Kira, and you know that I know, but as with my name, I just want to hear you say it."

He took another step forward and, to Light's horror, straddled his legs and sat down in his lap, facing him. Light had to fight hard to curb the impulse to straighten his legs and tip Mello off, but he knew that the penalty would outweigh the brief pleasure of seeing the blond fall on his arse on the floor.

"Come on," Mello said, "say it."

When Light merely looked away, leather clad fingers grabbed a handful of his hair and twisted his head back to look up at Mello. "I want you to look at me. Look at me, and tell me what you are."

Light did look at him, but said nothing. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel, somewhere deep down inside, a temptation to just give Mello what he wanted and let this be over. To share it with someone who wasn't that airhead Misa. Someone who would actually understand the burden of trying to change the world. To just put an end to all this hurt and death. But he pushed those traitor thoughts out of his head and clenched his teeth. The grip on his hair loosened, but the hand stayed.

"Are you worried that I'm trying to set you up?" Mello smirked. "You want me to prove I'm not wearing a wire?"

He grabbed the zip of his leather vest and unhurriedly pulled it down, revealing his bare chest. There was some scarring around his left shoulder, Light noted, but apart from that only smooth, pale skin.

"See? Bet you wish you hands weren't tied. I'd say you'd like to frisk me to make sure, right?"

Mello certainly had switched tactics. He pulled out his half-eaten chocolate bar and licked the jagged edge. Light had never imagined that anyone could make eating chocolate look so... obscene. He pressed his sore toe against the sole of his shoe again to keep his face from reddening. If he could stay in control, he could use this... He knew he was attractive, girls had fallen for him since primary school, and if he could use what he though he now knew about Mello against him, turn the heat around, perhaps it would help him escape. Or at least keep the violence to a minimum.

"I used to be catholic, you know," Mello said. "...and there really is a lot to be said for confession. You might even feel better for getting it off your chest. So go on. Confess to me."

"Are you going to offer me absolution?"

Mello's smile curled like a snake. "Perhaps. Or I could just send you straight to Hell, right now and no waiting."

Light tilted his head up, gazing deep into Mello's subzero blue eyes, and said: "I guess Heaven's out of the question?"

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. It was nothing short of absurd that he—self assumed straight guy, not to mention god of the new world—should even contemplate _flirting_ with his kidnapper. Let alone do it. It was dangerous, it was stupid. It made him feel strangely alive.

Mello threw back his head and laughed with genuine mirth. It threatened to tug Light's own lips into a smile. But he had no reason for smiling.

"No, I'm afraid that train has left for both of us," Mello said. "But there's still some things you can do. Go on, unburden yourself. We can work the rest out together."

"It is kind of tempting..." Light admitted.

Mello gave him a smug grin.

_I didn't say _YOU _were tempting, you vain bastard. Whatever the truth might be..._

"You really fancy yourself irresistible, don't you?" Light said.

"It's not conceit, it's just pattern recognition."

"Have a broad frame of reference, do you?"

It was a thinly veiled insult, but Mello just smirked at him.

"I was fifteen when I left Wammy's and went up to London. I was brilliant, but I was _fifteen_. I had no family reputation to fall back on, no home, no money. But I was beautiful and I was impatient. So why flip burgers for a week when I could make the same money in half an hour and not smell of cooking fat?"

Light was utterly taken aback by the flippant admission. Maybe it was just a lie, another piece of manipulation. Still, he played along.

"A week's wages, huh?"

"Yes. I am _that _good."

Mello was still waiting for his confession, and Light felt suddenly to his dismay that the reason he didn't want to give it no longer had anything to do with implicating himself. He just didn't want to break this moment. The closeness and the softly spoken words was such a welcome break from all the violence and shouting. The moment he gave in and said it—said that he was Kira—Mello would stop trying to charm him and start hurting him again. He didn't want that. Mello leaned closer, so close that Light could smell the chocolate off his breath and the leather off his clothes. He tightened his grip on Light's hair—presumably to make sure he didn't try to bite or something—and his voice was a low murmur as he said, "Come on, Light. You can even whisper it to me."

Light looked up at him again, their faces so close, but Mello was just a blur through a film of tears. The next thing Light said was the first honest thing to pass his lips in he didn't know how many years; "I'm afraid."

Mello didn't say "You should be", or "that's good", or even "I know." He didn't say anything, but the hand in Light's hair stopped grabbing and started stroking the back of his head lightly. Light had no resistance left. He leaned his head back again Mello's hand, closed his eyes and willed it all to go away. He was tired. This had gone too far too wrong, and he wanted out. He just wanted it to be over and done with. But he couldn't. He had put too much work into it, too many years. So when Mello gently prompted "Hmm?" he said: "And if I don't confess, what's going to happen to me?"

"Well, I see no other option then but torture. And, despite what you might believe, it's not actually something I enjoy."

Light said nothing, but he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.

"Don't worry though," Mello continued, "I won't accidentally kill you. I know what I'm doing. I had excellent education."

"They taught you torture at Wammy's?"

Mello's smile was humourless. "Mental and physical. Well, mostly they taught us how to resist it, but I've already figured out the techniques are easily reversed. It won't have to be so bad. I can even torture you gently, if you like..."

"Aren't you worried I might like it?"

Mello grinned. "If you liked it, it wouldn't be torture. I'm just saying that there might not have to be bullet holes and blood and severed body parts. I won't necessarily have to pull your teeth or your fingernails. All I would have to do is tie your ankles to your hands and put you on your stomach. After a few hours of not being able to straighten your back, your screaming muscles will have you begging me to just shoot you."

"You're a twisted fucker..."

"No, I'm not." Mello was still smiling. "If I was a twisted fucker, I'd have already done that, before asking any questions, just to show you I'm serious. Instead, I'm giving you the option of getting out of this without any torture at all. You only have to do as I tell you. Considering what you've done, I think I'm being extremely generous."

"But you know confessions obtained under torture aren't worth a damn! I could tell you anything you want to hear, just to get out of it."

"Oh come on! It's not like I'm asking you to betray your family or loved ones. All you have to lose is your own stupid pride. What you did was wrong. Whatever your motives at the start, you fucked up. Why not be a man and own up to the mess you've made? Take the consequences. Take the first little step towards redeeming yourself. You'll feel better for it..."

Redeeming? He was doing the world a service! He was getting rid of criminals, and Mello—Mello of the mafia, killer of SPK agents, blackmailer of policemen—was talking about fucked-up motives! _He_ was talking about Kira's great mission as if it was something _shameful_. In anger and spite, Light shouted, "I'm not Kira!"

Mello's reaction was as instant as it was violent. He was off Light's lap and whacking him across the face with the butt of his gun in less than two seconds.

"Don't lie to me!" he screamed, "Don't you fucking lie to me! I can take your silence and fucking whinging because I know that this is your whole life here, but don't you fucking DARE to take me for an idiot and LIE to me!"  
Light gasped and sobbed, spitting out more blood. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any teeth lost this time. He cried, "You're fucking out of your mi..."

He didn't get further before Mello's boot connected heavily with his chest, tipping the chair, and toppling him backwards. He landed on the floor with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. His fingers were trapped between the concrete floor and the hard wooden back of the seat as his whole body weight pressed them against ground. The pain was worse than anything he had ever imagined. Even the bullets in his feet paled in comparison, and he screamed uncontrollably. His legs stuck uselessly up in the air and there was no way he could take the pressure off as the bones of his fingers were ground against the floor.

Mello was saying something, but Light's own screams were drowning it out. Then Mello's boots were pushing his shoulders into the floor as he sat down between Light's knees, on the upturned edge of the seat, adding even more pressure on his fingers. The acute agony was sending Light out of his mind and he screamed, among a disjointed series of words begging Mello to get off, "I'm Kira! I'm Kira!"

Just as suddenly as he had pushed him over, Mello was grabbing the back of the chair and pulling it back upright. Light sobbed with relief as the pressure finally lifted, but the pain was still vicious.

Mello walked around him to the back, and Light could hear him say, as from a million miles away, "Oh dear. They do look sore. Looks like you've written your last death note."

"You... bastard... you..." Light knew he was blubbering like a little boy, but there was no chance of stopping it, and anyway the humiliation was vanishingly small in comparison to the pain, which was so great that it blocked everything else out. For an indeterminate period of time, light turned to darkness.


	6. Five

Five.

When the dark fog lifted, Mello had gone again. Light's hands were just a ball of pain, like his right foot. His nose was caked with dried blood, and his gums were swollen and raw. He wanted to cry but he choked it back, not even really knowing why anymore. Time passed.

When Mello finally returned, he was clutching a bottle of water. Thirst hit Light mercilessly. How long had he been here? He had no idea. The concept of time had vanished along with his consciousness. He just knew that he wanted that water, more than he had wanted anything in his life.

"Now, where were we," Mello said. "Oh yes, you said you were Kira? Is that right?"

Mello straddled his legs again, unscrewing the bottle top.

"I would have said anything. My fingers..."

"Mhm. So, did you mean what you said?"

Mello swigged from the bottle. A single drop of water rolled from his lips down his chin, and Light could have licked it right off. His mouth was full of dust, his throat lined with sandpaper. Then Mello opened his other hand, revealing two round, white pills.

"Painkillers. Your fingers must be agony..."

Light knew there was no guarantee they were painkillers at all. For all he knew, they could be cyanide capsules, or some hallucinogenic drug, or something that would make him babble uncontrollably about anything Mello wanted to hear, but right now, he didn't care. What was the point? Mello already knew.

"Yes," he whispered, defeated, "I meant it. I'm Kira."

"Good boy." Mello held the bottle to his lips and let him drink briefly. "Tiny sups. I don't want you to throw up all over me." He pulled it away, Light following it's removal with his lips like a baby with a nipple. He was pathetic, and past denying it.

"See, I can be nice too," Mello said. "Now, do you agree to help me?"  
"Yeah. Yeah...."

Slim black leather fingers held the white pills in front of his mouth and didn't even pull away once as he reached out to close his lips around them. More sips of water followed, and Light's head was pulled forward so he could rest his forehead against Mello's chest.

They sat like that for a while, towards the end of which Light started to wonder why Mello was still there. He had got the information he wanted, why was he still just sitting there with his arms loosely draped over Light's shoulders? Could it be that the need for closeness was so deeply ingrained in the human mind that even someone as volatile and antisocial as Mello took some where he could find it?

Eventually, Mello stood up and walked over to his motorcycle. The source of the light that first night, Light realised. He couldn't see what Mello was doing, he appeared to just be standing there with his back to Light.

Soon, a beautiful numbness started to spread through Light's body. The pain dulled, from piercing agony to a muted throb, and his tensed muscles started to relax.

"These are great painkillers you gave me..." he said.

"Aren't they? I took them when my face got burnt. Which, incidentally gives me a sort of karmically sound idea for a torture, if that should become necessary again." Mello's voice was flat.

Light sniffed. "Would you stop discussing the torture of me, _with_ me, like we were partners or something..."

Mello didn't respond. He was still turned away. One of the ceiling windows was directly above his head, and the light made him seem almost luminous. Like a stereotypical angel, Light thought bitterly. An angel of death.

"Can I ask you a personal question, and you promise you won't get violent?" Light had to establish contact again. He was afraid that Mello, having got his confession, was thinking about killing him. Or perhaps the truth was that he just couldn't stand the silence.

Mello thought about it for a second, then said, "Yes."

"Who was Ma... that person who's name I'm not allowed to say?"

Mello turned. His face was stony and pale, the scar stark in the overhead light.

"That's really none of your business. Although, I do appreciate that you made an effort to do as you're told for once. He was a colleague. He was a friend."

Did Light detect a slight pause before the last word? He himself had never lost anyone to make him scream like Mello had screamed earlier. Not even his father.

"What happens now?" he asked.

Mello nibbled his chocolate, looking like he hadn't quite decided. "On one hand, you're responsible for Matt's death, and so you deserve to die," he said. "On the other, killing you won't let me win the game either; the original L could have done that too, years ago. No, it was always about beating you at your own game. So, I will need you to give me enough evidence against you to have you convicted in court. Of course, knowing this, you might think that I won't kill you before I have such evidence, so you won't give it to me freely... if so, we're back at the torture."

"No!" Light said. "No more torture!"

Mello gave him a look. "There hasn't been any yet."

"You've shot me in both feet! You've crushed my fingers and knocked three of my teeth out! How can you say..."

"Oh shut up!" Mello raised his hand, and Light flinched away, but Mello only sneered at him and reached out to brush some sticky hair out of his face. "You think you're hurting now, Light? You really have no idea..."

"I said I'd help you! I told you, didn't I!"

"Fine. Help me then. How do I prove what you've done to a world that doesn't even believe Shinigami exist?"

Light's head was swimming with the strong drug. He tried to reason around his problems, tried to see a way out of this, but the unfairness of it all made him want to scream. It wasn't his problem that L couldn't catch him, or that Mello couldn't prove anything!

"I'm... so tired now," Light said. "If you untie me and let me sleep... we'll figure everything out tomorrow..."

Mello gave him a crooked grin. "Look. Just because I haven't put you away already doesn't mean I'm totally stupid. Let me make it easier for you... There is a second notebook. Who has it?"

Light's stomach turned with nerves. This could be an excellent opportunity to get rid of Mello. If he told him about Mikami, Mello would no doubt take off to claim the Death Note, giving Light time to try to escape. On the other hand, there was too great a chance that Mello would kill Mikami, and ruin everything. The plan for meeting with Near hinged on Mikami, and Light could not risk losing him. But if he could be convincing enough, he might get Mello to leave regardless...

"I... can't..." Light said.

Mello frowned. "Stop stalling and tell me! Or do you want me to..."

"No! I don't want you to hurt me anymore! But... the person who has it... you have to promise me..."

"What?" Mello munched his chocolate, and the smell of it made Light's mouth water. He was hungry.

"Promise... you won't hurt... her."

Mello's eyes flashed and Light knew he had taken the bait.

"Misa has it? In your house?" he laughed. "Where I was? That house?"

Light just looked down. Mello would draw his own conclusions.

"Where in the house?"

"I don't know. I told her to hide it in a place nobody would find it."

That was all true, it was just old news.

"You're telling me I might have to interrogate your girlfriend?"

"L tried it before. Didn't get a word out of her."

Mello sighed. The prospect of interrogating Misa was—by rights—clearly not appealing to him. Besides, Misa didn't know who had the notebook now. Depending on Mello's mood, this could cost the girl her life. But Light had been prepared to sacrifice her from the start.


	7. Six

Six.

Mello had been gone for hours. Gone to Light's apartment to look for the note, he was sure. The minute he had got on his bike and drove out, Light had started trying to get loose, but even if he might once have had a chance, he soon realised that his broken fingers made it impossible to even figure out a way. Recalling stories about people pulling out of handcuffs by dislocating their thumbs, he had tried that, but the pain had been too great, even through the fog of the pills. Swearing loudly, he had been forced to give up.

Then he had tried to stand up, throwing his weight forward, but the strap holding his thighs to the seat of the chair hindered him from gaining enough momentum. The fear of the chair tipping over backwards again was enough to stop him from rocking too much. He would not get free by himself. He needed to make Mello release him for some reason, and then he could fight his way out. He was taller and heavier than Mello and, despite being weakened by pain and lack of food, he should be able to overpower him. The thought sent tingles of excitement through his stomach. Oh, how he would love to show Mello the full force and fury of Kira! Gone was the clinical distance of killing with the note, Mello was one enemy he would delight in besting physically. Just to see that cocky grin wiped off his much too pretty face. If only the roles were reversed... Light let himself drift off and indulge in fantasies of revenge and domination, before the hopelessness of the actual situation brought him back to reality.

He had called for help too; screaming until his parched throat was aching. The sound had echoed off the concrete walls, but nothing else had happened; nobody had come.

Mello would be back, eventually, and most likely furious about having got nothing out of Misa. He would start pressing Light for details again, and Light had to decide what to do. If he refused to tell Mello where the note was, there would be pain. Real pain. Quite possibly even death, although Mello had said that he would not let him get away that easily. In either case, Mello would try to break him. And would Light eventually break? No! his mind screamed. That brat, that swaggering, whorish brat would _not_ break him! Never! He'd rather die and take the secret with him to his grave! Mikami would continue to judge, and Kira would live on, in function if not in person. But Light was hurting already. He had already shown Mello his weakness, nearly cried in front of him. He could rationalise it now as an act; he had not given away any vital information, only given Mello what he already knew. He could play defeated—sure—it didn't mean that he _was._ He would bide his time and play along. Then, when Mello least expected it, he would strike. And justice would come down on the blond tramp—oh yes, come down oh so hard!—and life would be sweet again. Light licked his lips and focussed on his breathing. Waiting.

When Mello eventually did come back, he was not happy. A bright red scratch on his neck told Light that things had certainly got physical.

"Your girlfriend wouldn't talk!" Mello snapped. He stood, feet apart, before Light and glowered at him.

"What... what happened?"

"She wouldn't talk, I said! Because she didn't know! She didn't have the note and she didn't know who did. So, it's back to you, Kira."

Light took a deep breath. "What did you do to her?"

"She fought like a wildcat. I had to put her down."

"You killed Misa?" Light had been prepared for that eventuality, but it still struck him. Sweet, stupid, naive Misa. Gone. Huh.

"She refused to cooperate." Mello shrugged. "Now tell me, are you going to refuse too?"

"But... Misa did have the note! I gave it to her myself! That was the last time I saw it, I swear!"

Mello shook his head, making the long blond strands dance around his face. "Well, you see, I can't just take your word for it..." He pulled his gun again, and Light saw a cross-shaped charm dangling from the butt. Perhaps something to do with the Catholicism he had mentioned earlier. "...I'm going to have to make sure you tell me the truth."

Light felt his heart pounding, it made his fingers throb, even though the effects of the drugs, which were lessening. Mello dragged the barrel of his gun down Light's thigh until it came to rest on his knee again. Then he cocked it, and Light felt the panic wash over him; a force too strong to be controlled even by his immense will power.

"Stop it! Stop it!!" he called. "Misa is the second Kira! L suspected her! She got the other Death Note from a shinigami called Rem—Rem is the one who killed L! I didn't write his name, because I still don't know his name! Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm lying!"

Mello leaned down to do just that, leaning heavily on the gun, pushing the barrel into Light's knee. Those intense blue eyes pierced his, and Light stared back, unflinching. Mello couldn't read his mind, the mere idea was ridiculous, but that's how it felt. Thankfully, this time Light was telling the truth. To a degree.

"Okay," Mello said. "I believe you. Misa once used the note, I've known that for some time. But she doesn't have it now. She would have told me. My interrogation methods are very different from L's. Much more... physical."

"What did you do to her?" Light recognised morbid fascination in himself when he felt it. Mello just looked at him, not smiling, just letting Light stare into his eyes, seeing the answer. Of course, the answer itself was a projection of Light's own fear, and he was not beyond knowing it.

"So," Mello said, sliding the gun back up Light's leg to point at something much more vulnerable than his kneecap, "if you don't want me to demonstrate, you'll tell me. Who has the note now?"

"I don't know!"

The blow came hard and fast. Mello changed his grip on the gun in a split second and, instead of putting a bullet in Light's kneecap, he slammed the butt down on it like a hammer. Light howled.

"You're lying again!" Mello shouted, bringing the gun down again. Something in Light's knee broke, and he cried out loud. "What did I tell you about lying? Misa told me! She told me you gave the note to someone else! Why do you have to be so fucking stupid?" The gun swept up and caught Light across the face. A moment of blinding pain, and then—mercifully—unconsciousness took him.

_A/N: Sorry for another short chapter. And I'm aware that each one ends with Rite-0 passing out, but... let's pretend I did that on purpose and it was really clever... _


	8. Seven

Seven.

When Light came to again, the pills had worn off and the pain was everywhere. His fingers and toes, knee and jaw were the worst, but his whole body ached from the static position. Hunger burned in his stomach, his throat was parched, his bladder felt like a watermelon.

It was pitch black; he might as well have been buried alive. The thought made him cringe with panic. His mouth and throat were full of congealed blood, and he coughed and spat. The echoes of the sounds told him that he was still in a large, bare room. He must not have been moved.

As much as his body hurt, as thirsty and hungry as he was, the most pressing thing right now was the need to relieve himself. No matter how humiliated he had been he still couldn't face the indignity of pissing himself. He doubted that he could do it, even at gunpoint; a prospect that, during the current circumstances, didn't seem too far-fetched. It'd be just the kind of thing that Mello would get a sick kick out of, he thought.

Suddenly, a small flame sparked beside him. Mello's face was illuminated mere inches from his own. Light jerked back in surprise and swore out loud, "What the fuck are you doing? Why is it so dark?"

"It's dark because it's night. And because I don't want to run down the battery on my bike. What's the problem, Light? Are you afraid of the dark?"

Light shook his head, annoyed, but stopped as his dehydration headache reminded him it was not a good idea.

"Didn't you bring any candles or anything?"

"I didn't know it was going to get so romantic," Mello said, a heavy note of sarcasm marring his silky voice.

Light didn't care about the dark; he needed to go, and he needed Mello to let him. But he hesitated, knowing that giving Mello such and obvious opportunity to torture him further would hardly go unused. Still, he had no option but to try. He forced a polite, submissive diplomacy and said, "May I please use the bathroom?"

Mello laughed. "Look around you! There's no fucking _bathroom. _If you need to go for a piss, say so."

Light gritted his teeth, hating the way Mello was so determined to drag him down to his level. "I need to go for a piss. May I, please?"

"And if I say no?"

"Well, I guess it's going to start to stink here soon. And you won't want to use me as a chair again, that's for sure."

Mello walked around Light's back and a warm light spread in the room as he lit a lantern and carried around to the front, putting it down on the floor.

"Well. We couldn't have that, I suppose. Alright."

Mello disappeared from view behind Light, and the hood was pulled back over his head. The strap around his legs loosened and something hard pressed into his back.

"Before you ask, yes, that is a gun. Don't try anything stupid. On your feet."

Light shifted his weight forward, feeling his feet and his knee screaming in protest. For a terrifying moment, he thought he would be unable to stand, but then he managed to grit his teeth and power through the pain. Mello held a firm grip on the cuffs and shoved him forward. Grunting with pain, Light took a few halting steps.

"You're going to have to free at least one of my hands..."

Mello chuckled. "Not bloody likely. You really have to stop treating me like an idiot. Besides, I don't think you could use your fingers to grip anything, not even the smallest thing..."

Mello pushed him forward further, then pulled him to a stop. Light cringed as a gloved hand snaked around his body to pull down the zip of his trousers.

"Hey..." This was beyond awkward. Light hated the way shame could still be such a big issue when he was so hurt and in such danger. But it ran to the bone.

"Oh come off it," Mello said. "I'm wearing gloves."

And Light bit down and tried to send his mind far away as Mello stuck his hand into his trousers. He prayed that Mello wouldn't do anything to embarrass him further, and for once, it seemed his prayers were answered.

It took forever until he could relax enough for relief to come, but when it did, it was great enough to make him sigh. Mello waited until he was done, then shoved him back and zipped him up, less than gentle, and turned him around to walk him back to his chair. It was now or never.

He remembered what the room looked like, and had kept the orientation in his mind since leaving the chair. Ignoring the pain in his feet and knee, and the fact that he could not see where he was going, Light launched himself forward. He could feel the anticipatory tingle of a bullet between his shoulder blades but there was no shot fired. The worst thing was that Mello didn't call out, didn't threaten him or order him to stop. He made not a sound, but Light could hear his running footsteps behind him, and he was _fast_.

The breakaway attempt didn't last long. His handcuffed arms and the blindfold slowed him down enough for Mello to easily catch up. He was tackled to the ground, rolled over on his back, and the hood ripped off his head. Straddling him and pinning him down, Mello looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Was that clever, do you think?"  
"Probably not," Light said, "but you can't blame me for trying."

"I suppose not. And you can't blame me for punishing your failure."

He pushed Light down hard, so that he could not keep his back off his broken fingers. The pain welled up like a tide of boiling water, and Light's twisting to get away from the pain only made Mello push down harder.

"Will you try to escape again?" Mello said.

Light cried and tried to choke out a reassurance that he wouldn't, but Mello must not have heard him. "Will you try this again?" he shouted down at Light.

"No! No!" Light cried out, and Mello simply slapped him across the face a few times, then pulled him roughly to his feet. He shoved Light over to the chair, and pushed him down. Fastening the strap around his legs again, he tightened it a bit extra. Light couldn't help but feel that he had got off easy.

"Right," Mello said. "Now you will tell me who has the note. And no more lies. Do you understand?"

Light shook his head with furious hopelessness. Mello gave him another slap, and Light wanted to scream all the obscenities he knew at him, but he knew it would only make it worse. Then, just as he was about to do it anyway, he saw something at the edge of the circle of light from the lantern. A white, grinning, demonic face.

"Ryuuk!"

Mello's head whipped around to follow Light's eyes. He could not see Ryuuk, of course, and turned back to glare at Light. Light ignored him and shouted, "Ryuuk! You have to help me! You have to get me out of here!"

Ryuuk came into the light, eyeing Mello closely. "So, this is the guy who had Sidoh running errands," Ryuuk chuckled. "Is he really that scary?"

Mello stared at the air in front of him, through Ryuuk, and said, "Shinigami?"

Ryuuk sniffed Mello, rather like someone trying to decide whether his shirt is good for another day or needs washing. "Sidoh loved chocolate," he said. "Said it was better than apples."

Light couldn't believe his ears. Why wasn't Ryuuk untying him?

"Ryuuk! Get me out of here, I'll get you a whole damned orchard! Just do something!"  
"Shinigami!" Mello said in a commanding voice, "I can't see you, but I would very much like to speak with you!" He pulled the outer wrapper off his chocolate bar and held the paper up in the air before him. "If you're there, please take this paper and hold it where I can see it!"

"Ryuuk, don't listen to him! Untie me!" Light shouted as Ryuuk, grinning from ear to ear, plucked the chocolate wrapper out of Mello's hand. Mello's eyes widened as the paper hovered in the air before him.

"Thank you. Ryuuk, is it? If you would please move the paper vertically for a yes, and horizontally for a no. Do you know who I am?"

His voice was steady and clear, without a single hint of worry. Like Ryuuk was nothing more than a new underling to command. And Ryuuk, laughed and lifted the paper high above Mello's head, only to drop in back down. "This guy is entertaining!" he told Light, who could only growl in frustration.

"Good!" Mello said. "Now. My name was recently written on a piece of paper from one of the Death Notes. Yet, as you can see, I'm not dead. The person who wrote it first misspelled it a number of times. I'm guessing that is the reason it did not work, am I correct?"

Ryuuk chuckled and jerked the chocolate wrapper up and down. Mello nodded.

"Each time you write someone's name in the notebook, do you have to spell it correctly the first time?"

Ryuuk waved the paper back and forth in front of Mello's face, and Light kept shouting at him to stop.

"Is there a time-out between spelling the name wrong and spelling it right?" Mello asked. Ryuuk moved the paper back and forth and Light's stomach turned. Mello's line of questioning might lead him to a very dangerous discovery. If Takada had indeed spelled his name wrong four times, it meant that Mello was now immune. He could not be killed with a Death Note. And he was about to find out.

"Ryuuk! What are you doing?" Light shouted. "Why are you helping him?"

Ryuuk grinned at him in the flickering glow of the lantern. "I don't think it will be very much fun, following you around anymore, Light Yagami. I think Mello will prove... much more interesting."

Light screamed with rage until Mello walked over and stuffed the hood that had been over Light's head into his mouth. Light's nose was stuffed with caked blood, and he tried desperately to draw breath, but he couldn't get much of it.

"So, there is no timeout... and still, she didn't kill me even when she managed to write my name correctly... so, how many chances to you get to spell it right?"

Ryuuk moved his hand closer and further from Mello's face four times, and Light was starting to see black spots. He was suffocating. As from a great distance, he heard Mello say, "So does that only apply to one and the same writer? Can someone else still kill me with the Death Note?"

Light thrashed violently, only depleting his oxygen further. After all he had been through. After everything, this was how he would die? Accidentally killed... it was not fair!

Just as Light could feel his vision go black, Mello took a few long strides over to him and yanked the cloth out of his mouth. Air rushed back into his lungs, and he sucked it in, savouring every breath.

"Hear that, 'Raito'_?_" Mello gloated, "Apparently, I can't be killed by a Death Note. Is that true?"

Light could see Mello's hand, poised with the balled-up hood, ready to shove it back in. He nodded, still panting. "Yeah... it's true... but don't... I can't breathe... through my nose..."

Light was in fact not sure if it applied to every Death Note or only the one from which the page Takada had written Mello's name on had come. It mattered little, because that note was the only one at his disposal anyway.

"Oops." Mello sounded utterly unrepentant. "So, that brings us back to my original question. Who has the other note?"  
"He is talking about that lawyer?" Ryuuk said.

Light ignored Ryuuk. Mello couldn't hear him anyway, and he could wave his piece of paper around all he liked and never tell him anything but yes or no. Then Mello did one of his scary 180 moodswings again and came over all gentle.

"Come on, Light..." His voice so soft and warm now, "what happened to helping me? You did promise..."

He smoothed back Light's hair and Light could hear Ryuuk chuckle. Did Mello want to embarrass him in front of an audience now, was that what this was about? Mello leaned down and looked into his eyes.

"Are you hurting? Do you want more painkillers?"

Of course Light wanted more painkillers. But he knew what the price would be.

Despite his lack of answer, Mello went behind his back and returned with the water bottle and the pills. Once again, he sat down astride Light's legs. He didn't weigh much, but it was enough to remind Light of his wounded knee. Amongst other things.

"Go on," Mello said, holding up a pill, "take it. You know you'll feel much better."

Suspicious and unnerved by the sudden kindness, Light stretched his neck and took the pill from Mello's hand. He got a sup of water to wash it down with, and then asked,

"What are they?"

"Well, I will tell you that they are awfully addictive. Luckily, I've got quite a stash."

So that was his plan. Get Light hooked and use his addiction as leverage. Light could tell himself that he would refuse any more of them, but he knew that was not true. They took the pain away. And without food and with so little water, Light was starting to get weak. He'd take the pill just for the water. He cursed his weakness, thinking back on generations of historic Japanese heroes who had gone to their deaths fearlessly for what they believed in. And here he was, giving up so easy, letting this... this _gaijin_ tell him what to do. It was unacceptable. But Mello's personality was as dualistic as his face; one side ragged, violent and broken—the other honey-smooth and beautiful. And it was this side that had Light fighting so hard not to just give in to him.

"Light... this doesn't have to be so bad, you know," Mello said, cupping his face gently. "Now I know I can't be killed by a Death Note, and that is great news for you! It means that I might not have to kill you. Just tell me the name of the current holder of the note. Let me worry about the rest. Okay?"

"I... if I do... will you promise... promise not to..."

"Not to kill you?" Mello's tone of voice was like he was speaking to a small child, and it made Light feel very young. Very much in over his head. Mello leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I promise."

The painkillers were starting to work a little but Light was also beginning to shiver. He felt hot and cold. All the stress on his body, and the lack of food, was making him ill.

"No..." he said, "to let me go..."  
"Aww... we'll see. But you have to give me something to work with here, Light. Give me the note. Then I promise to hear you out."

Light's eyes felt very heavy. Unreality was beginning to invade reality. He felt trapped in a nightmare, this was no longer real. Shivering and disoriented, he looked up at the face of his kidnapper. Half beauty, half pain. He must know. He must understand.

"I'm... I don't feel well..."  
"You don't look well. Tell me the name, and then you can lie down for a while. Rest, get some sleep. Doesn't that sound good?"

It did. It sounded so good. What name was it he wanted? Oh yeah, Mikami's. Surely, there was some reason Light shouldn't tell him, but he really wanted to sleep now. Ryuuk was gone, Misa was gone, and he just wanted to close his eyes, just for a minute.

"He's called..." Light slurred.

"Yeah?"

"Teru... Mikami..."

"Thank you."

Mello let go of his chin, and Light was vaguely aware that he got up and moved off before he succumbed to unconsciousness again.


	9. Eight

Eight.

Light drifted in and out of consciousness. He was lying down now, vaguely aware of something not quite as hard as the floor beneath him. Fever was burning through his body and the light stung his eyes. He was hurting, but the pain was distant and blunt. Worse was the confusion and the fear. Was he going to die? He couldn't curl up in a ball like he wanted to, something was holding his arms in place. A distant rattling of some kind of metal, and Light closed his eyes again.

Some time later, he sensed a presence and peered up at a blond head leaning over him. Some memories came back to him. He knew who this was.

"Near knows Mikami has the notebook too," the blurry figure said—mostly meaningless words to Light now. "You told me the truth. Good for you."

A hand lifted Light's head gently and something cool touched his lips. He drank and his head was lowered back down. Mello was a two-sided coin, violence and tenderness, forever spinning fast enough to blur the distinction. Light knew, even in this state, that what he was about to say carried great danger, but he still looked up at the hovering vision and flipped the coin, addressing him, "Mihael?"

"It's me." A hand on his forehead, briefly, then gone.

During the time to come, Light learnt that there were in fact two men who would come and see him. There was Mihael, with the cool, soft hands and the reassuring voice. He gave him water and painkillers, and sometimes just sat by his side for a while in silence. His face was kind; he was a vision of beauty, and Light longed for him when he was gone.

Then there was the other one. The one with the sneering, torn face that would hurt his hands and feet, pouring stinging liquid that smelled of hospital and death over them, force some disgusting gruel down his throat, and snap at him to shut up when he cried. Mello. Light hated Mello; had always hated him, would always hate him. He was hard and cruel and... frightening. When he came, Light closed his eyes and wished him away. Eventually, he would go. Dark followed light and light followed dark. Darkness and light. Violence and beauty. It became all he knew.

Steps approached and Light drifted to the surface. It was dark again, but a flickering glow came closer. He prayed that it was Mihael coming, his gracious angel, his light in the dark. It was cold; Light shivered and burned. He wanted someone to tell him he was going to be alright.

The shape hovered above him, still not decided, still spinning through the possibilities. He was scared. He wanted to call out for Mihael, but knew from experience that if he did, and this was Mello, he would be angry and probably hurt him more. So he stayed quiet, gazing up at the face that still lay in darkness as the lamp was set down beside him.

"See this?" the voice said. Something was held up before Light; a dark rectangle. "I got it. From Mikami. I have it now."

"Who... M... Mi... is it you?" Light couldn't tell from the voice whether it was the angel or demon and he didn't have the courage to ask.

"Hush. Don't worry. I need you to get well now. Take your medicine. Good boy."

That voice. It was him. Tears slid down Light's face. He was a child again, scared to be so far from home and his parents.

"Mihael... please... don't go..."

The angel was suspended in the air above him, wingless.

"I'm not going anywhere. Now sleep."

Light did as he was told.

The next time he woke up, things were clearer. He remembered now, knew who he was and what had happened. Knew that his beloved Mihael and the hated Mello were in fact the same person, sharing a body and a face with two sides. That was the reality of it, but the feelings inside were still split. On one hand, he had been kidnapped. Tortured, injured. On the other...

He was lying down, on a thin mattress. His arms were handcuffed to pipes above his head, but the chains on the handcuffs were long enough that he could move his arms a good bit. The same with his legs. He looked up at one of his hands, and saw that his fingers had been straightened out and splinted, wrapped in bandages. Similarly, his shoes were off, his feet and toes covered in gauze. Mihael/Mello—Light decided to make things easier for himself and just think of this composite character as 'M'—why would he patch him up like this if he wanted to kill him? But he didn't want to kill him, did he? He wanted to have him convicted. To confess to the police and to Near, the same way he had confessed to M.

And here he came, walking down towards Light. Light watched him move, that stealthy, graceful prowl, nearly soundless despite heavy boots. He took in his face, the smooth and the rough, and his stomach did awfully strange things. Blame the illness, the drugs. M must have used some kind of psychological manipulation, getting Light to imprint on one of his personalities, and... The inner paranoiac shut up as M kneeled at his side.

"You look better," he said. _(Mihael's voice! There would be no pain now!) _"Hungry?"

Light couldn't answer. The conflict of emotions inside him kept him paralysed. He wanted to reach up and touch that face. He wanted to scream and kick and hurt this man who had hurt him. He wanted to make him happy, make him talk softly and stroke his hair. He could feel tears in his eyes, but couldn't tell if they were from anger or... (_gratitude, let's leave it at that. The alternative is unthinkable... Flirting to get out of a tough situation is one thing... but this. There is a word for your condition...)_

"I brought you something."

M set a plastic bag down on the floor beside him and pulled out takeaway trays of sushi. Light's mouth watered. He had been kept alive with that horrible gruel that Mello had forced him to eat, but this was real food... food he liked and was used to. He could hear himself whisper, "Thank you."

M gave him a strange smile and loosened the chains some more, enough for Light to sit up and lean against the wall. Not enough for him to bring his hands to his mouth. Not that he could have used chopsticks anyway, with his splinted fingers.

"You can't get loose. You won't try anything stupid, will you, if I come close?" M said.

Stupid? What did he mean? Trying to touch him? Light shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Good."

M shifted closer, kneeling by his side and holding a piece of sushi expertly between the chopsticks within Light's reach. He could smell it. It brought back memories of fine days. He leaned forward to take it, but it was pulled out of his reach. Oh. So it was Mello he was dealing with.

"Just one thing first," Mello said, "you remember what I told you? You were pretty out of it, but I think you heard me."

"What?"

"I have the death note."  
Light did remember that. A shiver still went through him. Mello had been in possession of a death note before, and done great damage. Now, he knew Light's name... but he still had to trust in the fact that Mello didn't want to kill him.

"I remember."

"Good."

Mello brought the piece of food forward again, and when Light didn't make a move to take it, practically pushed it between his lips. The taste was bliss.

"So, I'm going to give you a choice," Mello said. "I can write your name down, and control you before your death so that you go to the police, give yourself up, and tell them everything. Or you can do it yourself and live. You might not get sentenced to death. You have a lot of supporters. Who knows what might happen?"

So that was it. Mello would not rest until he Light had confessed. As long as he got arrested, and the case was solved, Mello didn't care what happened to him after that. He would be fully prepared to write something in the Death Note along the lines of "Light Yagami turns himself in and tells the police everything they want to know about Kira, then dies 23 days later of a heart attack". It was over. He cried as quietly as he could, for his lost pride, lost game, lost identity. If he could no longer be Kira, who could he be?

"Please..." Light mumbled. The sushi was divine but salty. If he died, he would never taste food again, never cry again, never look at someone and feel that sweet little stomach ache... this was so fucked up. Mello was his enemy. But Mihael was looking at him with a tired understanding that made Light want him to hold him, and it was wrong.

"I know, it's not much of a choice, but you did put yourself in this situation. You could have just burnt the notebook. You didn't have to kill L. You didn't have to get Matt killed. Time to own up. Time to face the consequences."

The sadness in his voice made him sound like he might be talking to himself. After all, it wasn't only Light who had got Matt killed. Matt—whoever he had been—could have stayed safe, away from Mello. Like Takada could have stayed safe away from Light. People made their own decisions. Light was not going to feel guilty over anybody's death. The question was, why would Mello?

"Why are you doing this?" Light asked. "Why are you even giving me a choice? If you blame me for your friend's death, why don't you make me go to the police and die right after I confess? I don't want to rot away in some arrest, go through court proceedings and sentencing and..."

M looked at him. There was a toss-up which side of him would respond. Light started to recognise his signs of internal struggle. He was fighting against his own hatred, Light thought. So emotional, so volatile. Light had struggled with it too. L had pushed him, almost made him lose his cool with the whole Lindl L Tailor trick, and several times after that, and Light had fought hard to keep his work business-like. Ridding the world of criminals was not something he did out of anger or revenge, but as a service to society. He wanted to keep a cool head, not get so emotionally invested... but he had slipped at times. He recognised the signs.

"I... am doing this..." Mihael said. Light breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Because I think that you actually did start out with good intentions. You lost control, you weren't strong enough to keep to your way, but you weren't evil to begin with. That's why I'm giving you a chance to end it with good intentions. Pay up. Or get repossessed."

Light knew that he was asking to speak to Mello, but he could still not let this go. Could Mello really not see that he himself fulfilled every one of the criteria he was damning in Light? They were so similar. He didn't even feel a little accusatory as he said, "And you? Are you going to pay for the murdered SPK agents? The pilot on that plane? The other innocent people you've killed or caused the death of just because you want to win?"

He expected the food to be thrown in his face and the gun to come out, but M kept surprisingly calm.

"I have paid. More than you'll ever know. This thing has to end, that's all there is to it now. I doubt I will truly enjoy my victory after all that's happened, but I can't stop. It has to end. It's not even personal anymore."

Light had felt it too, that overwhelmed sensation, that desire for it all to just _stop. _He was losing himself. Sometimes, he paused for a moment in the crazy whirlwind of events, went into the bathroom, looked himself in the mirror, and saw Kira instead of Light. And he wanted out. He wanted someone who knew how this felt tell him how to deal with it.

"If I give myself up..." Light started, but the way he wanted to finish the sentence was such a huge admission of defeat that he found it hard to say it.

"Go on," M said, eating a piece of sushi like this was nothing like a pleasant lunch conversation between two friends.

"Will I..." Light shook his head. Something was dripping from his face and he didn't know if it was from his eyes or his nose. Mihael grabbed a napkin and wiped Light's face, gently. "Will I ever... see you again?"

A look of pure surprise sneaked across M's face in an unguarded moment, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You think you can talk your way out of this? You think that just because I've kept you alive this long, I have some kind of emotional investment in you? You're Kira! You're the reason..." He stopped himself and put the rest of the sushi down on the floor, then leaned back on both hands and scrutinised Light's face. "No, you're serious, aren't you? You're actually going Stockholm on me. Hardly surprising really... you're a spoiled little mammy's boy. Your proud parents, your sheltered little life, and then this. No wonder you cracked."  
His voice was hovering between pity and contempt. Light let the insult pass through without trying to defend himself. Instead, he found himself wondering about Mihael's parents.

"You cracked too. And, if I've understood right, your life was not so sheltered."  
"Touché." A tired smirk. Perhaps the Mello persona was getting heavy to carry. Light seemed to be getting away with a lot today.

"Tell me?"

"Tell you what? About my mother?" The sneer wasn't even half-hearted. Quarter-hearted, if there was any such thing.

"Yes... I'm not going to psychoanalyse you, I just want... just want you to talk to me."

"You're just stalling. Fine. I've won. The rest is just administrative details... you want to know about my parents? She died when I was born. My father wasn't impressed. You work it out."

"Violent man?" Light asked, marvelling at this unexpected openness. Of course, it could all be a bunch of lies.

"Compared to what?"

"You?"

M shrugged his shoulders. "He never killed the president."

"Neither did you."

A surprised laugh and M leaned forward to grab another piece of sushi for himself, before offering Light one.

"I thought I drove him to suicide. Well, that's one death off my conscience. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Mihael."

M shook his head slightly. "You might have gotten away with that crap when you were delusional with fever. Don't call me that now. I'm Mello. I'm the one who's going to put you away, ending what L started. Let's not forget that."

"I don't care... I'm..."

Light went suddenly silent as he caught a glimpse of movement over Mello's shoulder. His stomach compacted, pushing the breath through his lips. Mello was looking at him with horror in his eyes and then he was on his feet, whirling around, yanking the gun up in the same movement, but he was not fast enough. Three men in black commando gear with their faces covered were running towards them with fully automatic weapons trained on Mello's head.

"Drop the gun! Down on the ground!"

One of them grabbed the gun out of Mello's hand while another hit the back of his knees with the butt of his rifle. Mello fell to the ground at the same time as one of the commandoes knelt by Light's side, knocking sushi and water bottles out of the way.

"Light-kun, you okay?" he asked in Japanese and Light recognised Matsuda's voice. He had never expected to be happy to hear it. Over Matsuda's shoulder, he could see them cuff Mello's hands behind his back and roughly yank him to his feet.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"Misa told us. She said Mello came to see her, to gloat about the kidnapping. She managed to put some kind of trace on him, but it seems to be out of operation now. But that's how she got this address."

"Misa is alive?"

"Yes. She was tied up when we found her but otherwise unharmed."

Light was confused. Not because Mello hadn't killed Misa, but because he knew that the thing about the tracer could not be true... the only way Misa could have known where he had been taken was if... Ryuuk! There he was, walking in a circle around the restrained Mello and grinning his usual manic grin.

"Well, Light, you didn't think I would leave you here, did you?" he chuckled. "Misa would have been so unhappy. Besides, I want to see what happens now that the roles are reversed! It's going to be... interesting!"  
Light could not have agreed more.


	10. Nine

Nine.

Light spent a week recovering. He got professional treatment for his injuries, slept in his soft bed, ate all his favourite foods. It should have been a wonderful time full of freedom and relief, but it felt strangely anticlimactic. Of course he was happy to be free, safe, alive. Of course. Back among his friends and family. What was left of it.

His mother fussed over him like never before, and he realised that he took her for granted. She had always been there. Then, he had been called a spoiled mammy's boy not too long ago. He tried not to think too much about it, and he tried really hard not to think about Mello/Mihael/M locked up in a cell at the police headquarters. They'd want to interrogate him. He'd tell them that Light was Kira. They would not believe him. Light hoped.

With casts on his hands, special shoes to take his weight off the injured toes, and shot up with painkillers, he was supposed to stay at home, but the combined efforts of Misa and his mother were driving him out of his mind with their constant babying. He moved back into the apartment instead, and halved the problem.

Walking into the living room, he got a powerful flash-back from the abduction. He remembered that he had not heard a sound, but he had smelled the ether and known, spit-seconds before it happened, what was going on. The adrenaline had coursed through him, and there had been some fear, but there had also been that other, tiny feeling at the back of his mind. The way he supposed murderers sometimes felt when they were caught. That small bit of relief that someone had managed to stop what they didn't have the power to stop themselves. But of course Light could stop being Kira if he wanted to. Of course he could. He could stop tomorrow, but he chose not to. He was doing the world a favour. He was justice. He owed it to humanity to continue his work.

Misa seemed to have received no ill effects from Mello's interrogation. She told him that Mello had been 'very creepy but not violent' and she had not been that afraid. She had been more angry that he had taken Light, and even attacked Mello physically, so he had shoved her away and tied her hand and feet. She wasted no time wanting to show Light how happy she was that he was back, but he wasn't in the mood. He blamed his hands and knee, but it was her bubbly cheerfulness that was the real turn-off. She had been the second Kira, but now she was just Misa again. Apparently, she had forgotten what it was like. Or, perhaps, she had never understood, never felt the pressure like he did. Nobody did.

Then one morning when he got into the kitchen, she was all over him in seconds.

"Light!" She clung to him and kissed him. "Last night was _amazing! _You were so... passionate! It made me feel so special, so sexy, so... _"_

Light froze while she kept blabbing. He had no memory of doing anything passionate with her last night. Was he sleepwalking—or sleepfucking—on top of everything else now? He was losing control. And it was that damned Mello's fault. He had knocked everything off track with this damn kidnapping.

"But Light..." Misa said, "why did you call me... Meesha? Like on that letter?"

Meesha? Light just shrugged his shoulders and ate his breakfast, wondering what other things he might get up to while he was sleeping. This was certainly a development for the worse.

But the real blow didn't come until he had kissed Misa goodbye and was heading out the door. Meesha. No, no, no. He would never have called her that. Not in a million years. And unfortunately, there was only one other name that could sound anything like it while mumbled in the throws of passion. Mihael. Impossible. She must have heard him wrong. It was the only explanation. It had to be.

He tried to concentrate on work, damage control, planning what to tell Near. The time-frame was screwed. Mikami didn't have the notebook anymore. Light didn't even know if he was alive or if Mello had killed him. Mello had ruined everything. And all Light wanted was to see him. Speak to him. Perhaps get revenge; he remembered clearly the desire of 'bringing justice down on the blond tramp oh so hard'. Those had been his thoughts. Would that make him feel better? Perhaps.

They didn't want to let him at first. They said it was too soon. Light had to pull rank to finally let him agree to go in alone and have the cameras turned off. Mello was shackled, they said, and shouldn't be able to do any harm. They had taken the death note off him. It was in a secure place. Light sighed in frustration and pulled the door open while they were still talking at him.

Mello—Light had to make a mental effort to think of him only as Mello—was sitting on a small cot attached to the wall. He was wearing orange prison overalls, and his hands and feet were indeed shackled. He was staring at the floor, his hair hanging down around his face, hiding most of it. He didn't look up as Light came in.

"So, seems like we have a little role-reversal here," Light said. "Except I don't have a gun and you don't have any information that I want. I guess if I was to torture you, it would be purely for pleasure."

Mello raised his head a little, glaring from under his fringe. Light could see bruises on his face, a swollen lip. Somebody had gotten rough with him. That little squeeze in Light's stomach was stronger now. He had no idea what it meant. It was like writing down a name, that surge of power, yet not quite the same.

They had told him Mello wasn't speaking. They had not got a single word out of him.

"How come you didn't tell them?" Light taunted him. "That you found Kira and he confessed? Perhaps you didn't think that they would take the word of an criminal, orphaned slut over that of L?"

He walked up to Mello and leaned down slightly to look at him closer. Mello's face was impassive. He looked at Light, seemingly without emotion, and it was pissing him off. Light raised his hand. It was still bandaged, only the tips of his three middle fingers sticking up from the cast. He couldn't make a fist, and if he slapped Mello, he would likely hurt himself more than Mello. Instead he reached out and stroked his cheek in mock tenderness. Mello didn't pull away.

"I bet you're not so happy that you can't be killed by a death note now, are you?" Light said. "I'd wager that you'd sooner take thirty seconds of pain and then oblivion, to what's in store for you now?"

He could feel the power wash through him at his own words, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to see fear, anger, anything. Instead Mello looked like him like he was insignificant. Enraged, Light pushed him down on the cot and straddled his hips, much like Mello had done to him. He bent down and hissed, "Perhaps you think you'll get sentenced to death regardless? No. You're vital to the Kira investigation. Until the case is over—which looks like it could take quite some time—you're _mine_. And I'll keep you alive. Stripped of any rights, you'll have no say in anything, no control, not even over your own body which will be mine to do what I like with. You'll be nobody. Nothing, except my little toy..."

Surely, that would cause a reaction, but Mello looked back at him without a hint of fear. There was a fire in his eyes and, if that wasn't enough, he lifted his head from the cot and tilted it just so; an invitation to a kiss.

As shocked as he was at the act, Light wanted to claim this prize, this kiss, so much that he almost fell for it, but he stopped himself in time.

"You're going to bite me? I think not. I think I'll wait until I get a harness on you, a bit between your teeth..." he sneered.

Mello dropped his head back, and damn it if there wasn't the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he said, "Chicken."

Light's eyebrows shot up. He would challenge him? In this situation? The squeeze had turned into a strange churning and Light moved one of his knees so that it rested against the vulnerable place between Mello's legs.

"You bite and I'll crush your balls."

This time there was definitely a smile on those lips, and it was driving Light crazy with conflicting desires. He wanted revenge, he wanted... He bent down and mashed his lips against Mello's, trying to feel in control. But Mello's lips were pliant and yielding and his tongue came out to tickle against Light's as he arched up, grinding his hips into Light's knee. The action made Light's breathe out hard. He wanted his hands free from the bandages so he could... No! He jerked back, getting off Mello and stepping away from the cot.

"What's wrong, Light?" Mello purred, self-satisfaction written all over his face. This was all wrong. Even though Light was the one in power now, he was still playing Mello's game.

"Don't try that with me!" Light snapped. "I know what you're doing but it's not going to help you!"

Mello only licked his busted lip and gave Light a knowing grin.

"What? You think payback is beneath me?" Light asked.

"I don't think anything is beneath you."

There was too much innuendo in his voice. Light pounded on the door to be let out, and hurried to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and stared into the mirror. He was L. He was Kira. He had outmanoeuvred and killed his first opponent and now captured another. He was doing well. He was in control. In control. He brought his fingertips to his lips, still tingling from that kiss. What on earth had he been thinking?

Back out in the control room, the security monitor was back on and showed Mello sitting there, looking right into the camera. Challenging. Daring. Light told them that he was still refusing to speak and left them to it. He needed to get out now. Get away from those piercing eyes, that knowing smirk. It was intolerable. The whole thing. Just intolerable.

_A/N: And so the road grows dark and twisted... Please let me have your thoughts!_


	11. Ten

_A/N: Alright. Here goes... It has sex and violence. __It's rated M. I mean it. And don't tell me Mello wouldn't be capable of that! :D_

Ten.

Near didn't seem surprised to hear that Mello had been caught. Then again, Near never seemed surprised, full stop. His voice was the same calm monotone over the line as he asked, "How is he?"

"He won't speak, at the moment."

"I presume that you have enabled suitable suicide prevention measures?"

Light did not let his surprise at the question show in his voice.

"He is restrained. He has no opportunity for self harm."

"I see. Is he eating?"

Light gave Aizawa a questioning look, and Aizawa nodded.

"Yes," Light said, "he is in good health. Near, I didn't know you cared this much about him."

Near was silent for a fraction of a second too long, then said, "I am merely curious."

Yeah. Right.

They spoke for a while longer, tentatively getting around to arrange a second meeting, but Light didn't feel the urgency he once had. Sure, he would meet Near, and put a stop to this whole thing, but... there was no rush. For one, he needed a substitute for Mikami. And he was running low on notebooks.

Days passed with a horrible lack of momentum. The others never said anything, but Light could feel them looking at him, could sense them talking behind his back. He had lost his drive. In fact, that was not true, but somewhere along the line, some point on the vector of his live had become skewed out of place and things had started to go wrong. Barely noticeable at fist, but now a point had been reached where the reality of his life had veered too far away from the way things were supposed to be, that the strain threatened to rip the whole thing apart. It couldn't go on like this and it could not be stopped. His life kept hurtling forward on this bent track, and none of the others could possibly know how it felt. Their existences all made sense. Nice linear lifelines all around. Only Light was feeling the pain of a screwed-up path. They would never understand. Misa would never understand. In fact, there was only one other person who would know what it was like. Alone, in empty rooms, Light often thought about Mello's scars and wondered if it was better to have physical proof of a life gone wrong. Something to tell you, every time you looked in the mirror, that no matter how fucked up things were, at least you weren't just imagining it. At least you weren't crazy. And then he would laugh at the twisted idea of Mello being the sane one among them. It was absurd, but so was life.

Then one night, he a dream. If he had tried to explain away what he had said to Misa in his sleep, this one was beyond all excuse. In it, he was back in the garage, chained down on the mattress, and Mello was standing over him. There was no discomfort from his hands or his feet, but he was unbearably aroused, that in itself bordering on pain. Mello—for it_ was_ Mello, not Mihael—was clearly aware of his state, and he was laughing.

"You want me to uncuff one of your hands, huh?" he taunted. "Might be worth it just to see how low Kira is prepared to go..."

Light was blushing furiously, but the humiliation was only making him harder. Mello squatted down beside him, crouching like a black cat on the concrete floor, the light shining off his tight leathers.

"Have you ever had sex with someone who really knows what they're doing?" he said, trailing a gloved hand over Light's chest and stomach. "Not just tipsy college girls who spread their legs and let you do all the work? Have you ever been taken right to the edge? When you're straining for release, every pore on your body gushing sweat... have you ever been made beg, Kira?"

Light quivered with the tension inside him; he was about ready to start humping thin air. And then, suddenly, he was naked and grunting with the effort of not actually begging as Mello's fingers caressed his skin, everywhere but _there. _Their eyes met, and Light saw all the strength and confidence he seemed to have lost.

"What do you want, Kira?" Mello asked, kneeling between his spread legs. He was naked too, but leaning forward and Light could not see all of him.

Light whined, fighting against verbally admitting what must have been fairly obvious from the way his legs gripped around Mello's hips, trying to pull him closer. Mello chuckled and leaned further forward, his lips only inches from Light's.

"Kira—you're going to have to say it. Didn't I tell you it was time to own up? Come clean..." he laughed. "Pun most definitely intended."

Light felt his control slipping. It was the cruel smile on Mello's face, the cold steel of the cuffs against his wrists, the relentless throbbing ache between his legs.

"Please... he mumbled. Do it. Do it! Take it from me! Take me!"

In the dream, there was no pain as Mello pushed into him, only a tremendous sense of invasion. Like Mello could read his mind now, see through his eyes, taste with his tongue. Light jerked and thrashed on the dirty mattress, both wanting it to end and never wanting it to end. Mello was hovering above him, whispering things in his ear that made him twitch and shiver. Names of the dead. Then, "Are you ready? You gonna let it go?"  
Light could only moan. Mello grabbed him and stroked him and said, "Let go."

On his command, the world exploded. Light thought he was screaming, and the pleasure—though tinged with a sense of loss—was enough to blind him momentarily. When he could see again, Mihael was looking down on him with his kindest smile.

"Light, you did it. You're not Kira anymore."

Mihael kissed him, and he woke up, tangled in sheets, soaked in sweat, and wondering if this was how insanity started.

In the shower, he shook his head under the spray of water, trying to purge the lingering remains of the dream. Treacherous, evil subconsciousness. How could it do this to him, how could _he_ do this to himself? If he had ever—and he was not saying that he had—but if he had _ever_ even briefly had those kinds of thoughts about Mello, then surely Light had been the one in control. Bringing down justice. Showing him what happened to people who crossed Kira. But the thought of re-dreaming the dream but inversing the roles didn't do anything for him this morning. He brushed his teeth, trying to get the sour taste out of his mouth, and braced himself for another breakfast with Misa.

More days passed at a snail's pace. Light got the bandages off his hands and feet, but he felt like his whole body was enclosed in a plaster cast. His thoughts were drifting in work, and the others explained concerns for his health. PTSD was mentioned, and they wanted him to see a specialist. But Light didn't have PTSD. He had withdrawal symptoms. Staying away from Mello was like trying to go cold turkey on some dangerous addictive substance. And, like the vast majority of junkies who don't get help, he eventually relapsed.

It was late, the others had gone home. Only one guard was stationed outside the cells, watching a small portable TV and eating sandwiches. He got badly startled when Light showed up, and immediately tried to make excuses for his sloppy behaviour. Light brushed it off and told him to open Mello's cell, turn off the camera, and give him the keys to Mello's restraints. The guard knew this was against protocol, but he had just been caught slacking off, and Light was L. He tried to argue briefly, but Light gave him his best superior stare, and he caved. Light made a mental notice to get him fired when this was all over, and walked through the door.

Mello's bruises had faded. The way he was leaning back on the cot made him look like he owned the place. Light had never known anyone else who could pull off such authority with their hands tied behind their backs.

"Couldn't stay away?" Mello grinned at him, and Light's stomach responded. What was he doing here? WHAT did he think he was doing here?

"Did you want something, Mello? Only, you seemed to be staring into the camera like you had something to say to me?"

Light walked closer, feeling the electric aura crackle. God, but he wanted another one of those kisses, he wanted... No, he wanted Mello dead. He would have written his name on the tiny piece of paper hidden inside his watch, if not for the fact that Ryuuk claimed that Mello was immune to the death note now.

"Yeah, I want something," Mello said.

"Better spit it out then!" Light grabbed him by the front of the orange jump suit and pulled him to his feet. Mello was several inches shorter than him and had to tilt his head back just a bit to maintain eye-contact at such a close distance. Light could feel his breath against his skin, the heat off his smile.

"I want to use the toilet."

Light nearly threw him back on the cot. Instead, he gritted his teeth and said, "And I'm here to cater your every comfort, is that it?"

There was a toilet in the cell, and the chains would just allow him to reach it, all Light had to do was pull the zip down on the overall. Mello had done it for him, back there where Light had been so afraid of having to piss himself.

"Alright. Make it quick."

Light pulled the zip down all the way. His hands were trembling a little, but he put that down to the recently removed casts. A milky strip of skin showed through the gap, ending in a soft-looking patch of dark blond hair. Mello smiled at him and stepped even closer, almost pressing up against him. It was too much. Light had to step back or put his hands on him. He didn't want to back down. What did it matter? He had already let Mello kiss him. He slid his hands inside the coarse fabric, feeling soft skin over hard bones, stroking slowly downwards. Mello closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and Light was screaming at himself inside to stop this. Mello planted a light kiss on his neck, just below the ear, and whispered, "You still so afraid of me?"

"What?" Light stopped in his tracks but didn't push him away. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"I know, right? The guard is just outside, all you have to do is shout. Even provided I could take you down—with my feet still chained to the wall—I'd still never get out of this cell."

"You couldn't take me down, Mello."

He let his hands resume their wandering and Mello purred in his ear, "Well then. What are you afraid of? Uncuff me. Let me touch you..."

Light's breathing quickened. This was no good; it was too good.

"I thought... you needed the toilet?"

Mello chuckled a little. "Yeah, I might just have stretched the truth a bit... aah!"

That little gasp was due to Light brushing his fingers lightly over a nipple, and it instantly made him want to do it again.

"So, say I do uncuff you. What will you do? Show me how the pros do it? 'Someone who really knows what they're doing' isn't that what you said?"

Mello drew back a little, but he didn't look angry, only surprised. In fact, his teasing little smile was turning into a wide grin.

"I never said that!" he let out a short but totally genuine laugh.

"Yeah you did. You said that you weren't some tipsy college girl spreading her legs..." Light trailed off as Mello started laughing in earnest. Something was wrong here...

"Why, Light Yagami, I do believe you're dreaming! So, how long have they gone on, these dreams of yours?"

Light swallowed, but he could already feel his face turning hot enough to heat the entire room. "Never mind... I... it was someone else. I remember now, it was this woman..."

"Don't be embarrassed! I've had dreams about you. Well, daydreams really..."

Mello leaned forward to lick his lips, and even though Light was furious with himself for slipping up like that, the following kiss effectively distracted him. He skated his fingers down Mello's sides, making him squirm in the most delightful way.

"So..." Mello broke away from the kiss. "In these dreams of yours... what do we do?"Light couldn't help but recalling in minute detail exactly what they had been doing—or, rather, what Mello had been doing—and his body responded accordingly. He didn't say anything, but decided to silence Mello's awkward questions with another kiss. It was getting sloppier and hotter by the second, and Mello let out little noises that just made everything that much worse. "Light," he mumbled between kisses, "let me touch you... You won our little game... let me... give you your prize..."

And why the hell not? Light was vaguely aware that his brain had yielded executive power to the southern branch, but Mello was right. Killing or hurting Light would not accomplish his goals. He couldn't win here; he was check-mated, out of options. Whether he wanted to do this out of an honest acceptance of Light's victory or—more likely—because he thought he could curry some future favour from him, it didn't really matter. Light could let him whore himself out now and crush him like a bug tomorrow. No bother.

He broke away and took the keys out of his pocket, motioning for Mello to turn around. He unlocked the shackles and tossed them on the cot, then spun Mello around to stare at him, challenging him to act on his newfound freedom. Mello rubbed his wrists briefly, then lunged out and grabbed Light by the hair, kissing him fiercer than ever. His other hand was tugging at Light's shirt until it came free of his belt. He let go of Light's hair, sliding one hand down his arm and the other up under his shirt. Light let it happen, revelling in how good it felt to let someone else call the shots, just for a little while. He'd take over soon... just not yet. Not while Mello was leaving his mouth but never his eyes, and raking his nails very lightly across his chest and stomach and—good god—dropping to his knees and starting to undo his belt.

"So," Mello grinned, "ready to see how the pros do it?"

Light could only gasp and throw his head back and close his eyes as he felt the pressure of his trousers give way to cold air, and hot breath, and finally... finally...

Pain. Excruciating, nerve-shredding pain, setting his whole body on fire. He tore himself away, screaming. He was bleeding, rather profusely. Mello pushed himself back onto the cot. His lips were smeared with blood, that horrible indifferent look back on his face.

"Sorry," he said.

Light screamed again, in pain and rage—mostly at himself for being such a mug—and desperately tried to tuck his bleeding organ back before the guard got the door open. How was he going to explain this? Mello's restraints being off, his mouth bloody and Light pressing his hands against his crotch. What would they think of him? Probably the truth. Fuck! FUCK! This was... disaster, pure and simple.

"You fucking bastard! You manipulative fucking whore!" he roared, and then the guard was there, wondering what had happened, why Light was screaming.

He left the cell, brushing off the guard's questions. He was still in so much pain, and he had to get home to put ice on his wounds. In the parking lot, he dared to look down briefly. The bleeding seemed to have abated. Not so his rage. He screamed again, howling up at the lamplight like a wolf at a cheap plastic moon. Fucking _Mello_. Fucking treacherous slut, fucking damned fucking _cunt_! He had to die. Death note immune or not, his life needed to end.

Light took a few determined steps forward. Oh, his crotch was on fire, but it was the anger that made him want to cry. Still, he pressed on. For home, for the ice-box, for the painkillers. Perhaps he should go to a hospital, make sure his tetanus shot was up to date. He had heard the human mouth was filthy with bacteria, so what wouldn't _Mello's _mouth be like. He was probably disease-ridden too, the fucking whore. Light should get tested for HIV and all the rest and... but the humiliation of his condition kept him. He just needed to get home and... Christ! Misa! How in God's name was he going to explain this to Misa? She took a lot of shit from him lying down, but there was really no way he could explain away teeth-marks on his penis and make it sound legit. This was going to cost him his marriage. Mello was going to cost him, not only his bloody _wife, _but his only remaining ally as Kira! God! He would have to kill Misa too. GOD!

Suddenly, a voice broke through his raging internal monologue. A voice laced with far too much amusement. 

"Oh, Light, that has got to hurt!"

"Shut the fuck up Ryuuk!"

"Who knew Mello would be so desperate! He's like a wild animal! I always thought you'd get bitten, playing with him, I just never expected it to be so literally!" Ryuuk laughed.

"Shut up, just shut up, shut up..." Light mumbled, staggering forward. The pain was letting up some. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He reached the road on the other side of the parking lot, spotted a stone bench there, and sat down. The cold helped.

"So... Light..." Ryuuk was giggling to himself, a very disturbing sound. "Light... what time is it?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Light snapped.

"Oh, just curious..." The shinigami kept sniggering and Light felt like the whole world was going crazy.

"Well, Ryuuk, it is..."

No. No, not this too. No no no no. His watch. His watch with the piece of the death note inside it that he always wore; it was gone. Moving like in a nightmare, he got up and started running.


	12. Twelve

Eleven.

Matsuda, the idiot, kept his gun in his desk. He didn't want to bring it home, and routinely forgot to put it in his locker. Light knew this, as did most of them, but he had never thought anything of it. Now, he grabbed the metal letter opener off his desk and jammed it between the drawer and the frame, cracking the lock open. The gun felt like his last hope. It was loaded, he checked, and the safety was off, off, off.

The guard was not going to let him in this time, so Light had to shoot him. It wasn't so different from killing with the note, not really. More blood though, and the gunshot was so loud between the concrete walls. Mello would hear it, he would know what was coming. The thought made Light feel giddy and nauseous. It wasn't even the revenge, it wasn't even self-preservation. It was the feeling of finality. This gun had the power to _end_ things, in a way the note apparently lacked. Perhaps it was as simple as the act of pulling the trigger was instant, unlike writing a name, with the constant threat of being interrupted halfway. Nobody interrupted a bullet halfway – not even Mello.

Light grabbed the keys and opened the cell. Rage and panic and that sickening anticipation made him feel like he was moving under water. The sounds were muted and warbled, deafened by his own heartbeats. The door slid aside and Light clutched the gun like the hand of a parent.

Mello was sitting on the cot like nothing had happened. The blood was gone from his lips, and there was not a hint of emotion on his face. Light stepped through and aimed the gun squarely at his head. His finger twitched on the trigger, but there was one thing he had to knew first.

"How did you know?" he said. "How could you possibly know?"

"About the watch? You kept touching it. Even with your fingers broken, I saw you touch it several times. Unconsciously, of course. So when you were knocked out, I had a closer look. And since the shinigami told me I couldn't be killed by a note, I thought it might prove handy to have that piece available... should anything go wrong..."

Light was shaking. The gun was jerking all over the place.

"What did you do with it?"

The seconds were ticking away as Light stared at Mello. He felt like he was falling through the air, falling from a great height, and waiting for the impact. Mello's eyes were the colour of the sky and he couldn't see the ground from here. But gravity was unappeasable.

"It's right here." One of Mello's hands came out from behind his back, holding the watch. The guard. Light had been so eager to get out, so embarrassed about what had happened, that he had never told the guard that Mello's hands were uncuffed. Mello had just put his hands behind his back and acted surprised, and the incompetent moron of a guard had not checked. Well that was it then. Game over.

Light dropped the gun. He thought about shooting himself but found that he couldn't. He thought about shooting Mello but found that he didn't want to. Mello had won. Light picked up the keys, knelt down in front of Mello and unlocked the remaining restraints. Tears were running down his face but he hardly noticed.

"So, what did you put? How long do I have?"

He looked up and saw Mello bring his other hand forth and open it, showing Light the small square of paper resting in his palm. Light read his death sentence, written in Mello's blood. Or perhaps his own. There were still a few small stains on the floor.

"Light Yagami frees Mihael Keehl, confesses Kira to police. Dies 3.3.10"

23 days. So clinical, so compact. There wasn't room for more elaboration on the tiny note. Mello—being immune—had even been able to write his own name to ensure his freedom. It had clearly worked, 40 seconds having passed many times over since he wrote it.

Light sat down heavily on the floor. He would confess, he knew, but it didn't say when. Perhaps that left it up to him to pick the time. He could do it in 23 days and die before any action was taken against him. He could do a Jack the Ripper and choke out "I'm Kira" as he died and there was a great chance that they wouldn't even believe him. He could probably cheat Mello out of his victory even from beyond the grave. He had freed Mello, but he could be recaptured or never even make it out of the building alive. In fact, Light could still shoot him; there was nothing on the note about that. But it was pointless. It was over.

Finally over.

"I'm not happy about this, you know." Mello's voice was quiet and honest. He reached out and touched his fingertips to Light's cheek. They came away wet. "I wish there had been another way. I especially wish I didn't have to bite... you know."

Light looked up. It was so absurd, this whole thing. A notebook that killed, a cat and mouse game with these unlikely characters. If Mello hadn't been Mello, who would he have been? Light would have done well in life, if it wasn't for that damned notebook. He would have been just fine, but Mello?

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mello said. "I never thought that far."

He was so young. Light had forgotten that. He was younger than Sayu even, if the information Roger had given them was correct.

"What a bloody mess, eh?" Light said. "What a horrible bloody mess this turned into. All I wanted was justice."

He seemed to be skipping from denial straight to acceptance. Perhaps this reaction was also controlled by the note, perhaps acceptance was the only state of mind that would let him confess. He would confess. It was already written. He might as well get it over with. He'd call the team together tonight, own up to everything, the dead guard, their missing prisoner. Time to pay.

"All I wanted was to win," Mello said. "That and..." He closed his eyes like he was in pain, and his head suddenly pitched forward, blond hair falling like curtains around it, hands coming up to hide his face. His slim shoulders were hitching. Light stared, dumbstruck. Was he crying?

"What?" he asked. "You did win. What?"

Mello wiped his eyes and sniffled.

"But the price was too high! I thought this would feel better... I thought it would make it worth it. But I... Someone once offered me an out. Told me that I didn't have to do this. Told me to leave it and... live. You know. Together. And I chose..." He shook his head. "I chose this... _this_, over..."

"Over... Matt?"

Mello hid his face again but Light could see him nod his head. Well, that figured. Light had chosen too. Chosen Kira over his family. Over himself. What a sad pair they were. He pushed himself up onto the cot next to Mello, who looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Neither of them said anything. A few minutes passed in silence.

Eventually Light spoke. "You'd better go. This place will be swarming with cops soon."

"Yeah."

Mello stood up and walked to the door. The swagger was gone, he was just walking now. He turned around. Light heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet. There was still a dull ache in his privates but it was inconsequential now. He joined Mello and they walked down the hallway, stepping over the dead guard. When they reached the open-plan office, Light stopped next to the communications console. Right here, on this spot, was where L had died. The man whose shoes Mello had been raised to fill, or die trying.

"You said that you knew L," Light said. "I don't know if I told you, but I didn't kill him. I manipulated a shinigami named Rem into doing it for me, simply because I could never find out his real name. Do you know what it was?"

Mello bowed his head. "No. None of us knew each-other's names. Near didn't know mine, still doesn't unless you told him, and I don't know his. Neither of us knew L's. Security measures."

"I would have liked to know."

Mello didn't reply to that and the silence was starting to get heavy. Still, Light didn't want him to go, and apparently Mello was in no great hurry either. But time moved inexorably forward and the moment was running through his fingers like sand. His days were numbered, every second precious now. And then that one second arrived when Mello nodded and turned to leave, and Light reached out on pure impulse and caught his hand, and Mello turned back and met his eyes. Two sets of eyes, heavy with tears and regret, and no matter how fucked up their lives, no matter how bitter their animosity, when it all boiled down to it they were insignificant specks of matter on a vast planet, it in turn a vanishing dot in the galaxy. And the galaxy a pinprick of light in a universe that defied comprehension. One kiss goodbye hardly mattered. Even if it was salty and tender and spoke of the only lesson they both had learned from this: Life is short and fragile, but just for a moment, for good or for bad, you were part of mine. And that's all there is.

End.

_A/N: Well, that's that. This last chapter pretty much wrote itself, except for those horrendous last two sentences that I couldn't get to convey the very specific feeling I had and wanted to get through... but apart from that I'm actually kind of happy with how it ends. _

_Thank you for reading this story and double thank you if you review/ed it!_


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